Wheel of Fate (29 page)

For I felt sure that this plot – if that was what indeed it was – concerned him. Hastings, arrogant and full of self-importance, could not stomach being overlooked for a man such as Henry of Buckingham, member of the royal family though he might be. But what exactly was the Lord Chamberlain planning? Was it merely a coup to contain the Duke of Gloucester's powers and oust Buckingham from his suddenly exalted position as the favourite? Or was it more sinister than that? Was the duke's life in danger?

I caught my breath. If that were the case, then I had no choice but to go at once to Timothy and tell him all that I had overheard, whatever the consequences to myself. But after a few moments quiet reflection – in which, I have to admit, self-interest played no small part – I was persuaded that whatever was being hatched by Hastings and his erstwhile enemies, no physical harm was meant to my lord of Gloucester. They would not dare. As the victor of the Scottish war, the reclaimer of Berwick for English soil, he was too popular with the general mass of people, even here in the south, to run the risk of murdering him. And yet . . .

And yet wasn't that what he claimed had happened at Northampton? Or had the Woodvilles simply intended to take him prisoner until they had established themselves in the chief positions of dominance? I didn't know. My head reeled. All I knew for certain was that I had no wish to become entangled. Had I not, when I first heard of King Edward's death, congratulated myself that I was far from London and had no prospect of going there? But God had decreed otherwise; and now here I was, quite by chance (or was it God's will?) pitched headlong into what seemed to be a treasonable attempt to unseat Duke Richard and prevent him influencing the young king.

I half-rose to my feet, then sank back again against the tombstone as the thought occurred to me that perhaps I had no need to do anything. I remembered the tone of the lawyer Catesby's voice and the stony expression I had glimpsed on his face as he stood in the passageway, staring after Hastings. I was willing to wager that the Lord Chamberlain, by his contemptuous treatment of his underling, had made an enemy, one who might yet turn on his master. Of course he might not, but I felt the idea exonerated me from any immediate action. I would wait to see what news the next few days brought forth, and meantime I would concentrate on my own business.

Quarter of an hour later I was at Blossom's Inn, making enquiries as to any carters travelling to Bristol within the next day or two and willing to take a woman, three children and a dog as passengers; the children, of course, being little short of angelic and the hound a model of obedience and good behaviour.

‘And if you believe that, you'll believe the moon's made o' green cheese,' said a voice behind me.

I swung round and there was a grinning Jack Nym. I stared at him in disbelief, unable to accept that the luck was still running my way, and once more made uneasy by the reflection that it couldn't possibly last. The wheel was bound to spin soon in the opposite direction.

‘Jack!' I exclaimed, clapping him on the back, ‘what are you doing here again so soon? Twice to London in less than a fortnight? No, no,' I corrected myself. ‘That's not possible.'

‘Never been home yet,' he grumbled. ‘Got an offer from a glass-maker out Clerkenwell way to carry a load to Clifton, and I've been hanging about these past ten days waiting for the bugger to close the deal and make me a fair offer. But he won't pay my price so now I've had enough. I'm showin' him the two fingers.' His eyes brightened. ‘Did I hear aright? You and Adela and the children are going home? What a piece of good fortune. I can take you tomorrow. You won't pay as well as the glass, but you're better company so I'm not complaining.'

‘Not me,' I explained. ‘Just Adela and the children. Oh, and the dog.' He snorted. ‘I shall be making my own way home sometime later.'

Jack groaned. ‘What you got yourself mixed up in now, Roger, eh? Dang me if I ever knew such a man for getting tangled up in other people's doings. I wouldn't be married to you for nothing. That wife o' yourn deserves better, I can tell you!'

‘I know it,' I admitted, ‘but I've given my word to assist some relations of hers who are in trouble. If I can that is. I can't break my promise.'

He shook his dead despairingly. ‘Don't bother explaining. It ain't nothing to do with me, thank the Lord. Just be here with Adela and the children and that wretched cur first light tomorrow and I'll see 'em safe home. You needn't worry.'

I insisted on paying him for the family's transportation there and then and promised to have everyone assembled, without fail, in Blossom's Inn yard at an early hour the following morning. Then, with a much lighter heart, I returned to the Arbour.

The news that they were to start for Bristol the next day was received by my family with mixed emotions. There was a certain amount of sadness, although the overall feeling was one of relief. The air of depression that had hung like a pall over the house since Celia's disappearance had inevitably affected everyone's spirits, and judging from the whispered conversation I overheard between Nicholas and Elizabeth at dinner, they were already looking forward to seeing their own home once more. Even the week's journey on a jolting cart which lay ahead failed to dismay them, and the fact that I was not to be a member of the party in no way blunted their excitement. It was left to Adela and, surprisingly, Adam, to express dismay at my absence.

‘You come, too,' my son said, regarding me severely.

‘I'll follow you as soon as I can,' I assured him.

He looked as if he didn't believe me, not without good reason. I was always disappearing from my family's life and constantly breaking promises to return when I said I would. He had learned to distrust me. Adela felt the same way and urged me to go with them.

‘I should never have involved you in my cousins' affairs,' she said regretfully as we took a walk together that afternoon, leaving the children in Arbella's care.

We followed the track northward, away from the city – where the filthy, clamorous streets ran higgledy-piggledy in all directions and the houses blotted out the light with their overhanging eaves – and into the open countryside; mile after mile of sun-kissed fields, with trees and hedgerows bursting into leaf in the warm spring weather and not a dwelling nor a person in sight as far as the eye could see.

‘Sweetheart, I can't abandon them now,' I said, and repeated the old arguments. ‘They've been good to us, to you and the boys especially, and they are in desperate trouble. I can't bring myself to be that uncaring.'

She sighed and rested her head against my shoulder as my arm encircled her waist. ‘No. Oh, Roger, I'm sorry. It's all my fault. Why did I ever allow myself to listen to that evil woman?'

My conscience smote me and I paused to stop her mouth with a kiss.

‘It's all right,' I murmured. ‘It's all right. But you do see that I must stay? For a little while, at least, until I'm convinced that there is nothing more I can do?'

I didn't add that I might now have another reason for wishing to remain in London that had nothing to do with the Godsloves. Indeed, I wasn't even prepared to admit it to myself. How could I? Hadn't I told myself that the Duke of Gloucester's affairs were nothing to do with me?

‘Yes, I know,' Adela said miserably, returning my kiss with fervour. ‘And you say that there's no trace of Celia in Dr Jeavons's house, not even in the cellar which his sister denied was there? Why do you think she did that?'

I shrugged. ‘I think Ginèvre Napier was right; for no better reason than that Mistress Ireby wanted to be rid of us. Nothing more sinister than that.' I glanced around, noting that the shadows were lengthening across the grass. ‘We have to go back, sweetheart. It will soon be suppertime and Oswald will be home. I must break the bad news.'

Adela nodded. ‘And my poor legs are aching. We've walked a couple of miles at least, I should think. But at least I've had you all to myself. We haven't passed another soul. No one seems to live this way.' She glanced up at me. ‘Now, why are you frowning?'

‘I don't know,' I answered slowly. And it was true that I didn't. But something was suddenly making me uneasy, prodding at my memory, and yet I couldn't think what. It was the same feeling I got whenever I saw Julian Makepeace.

I said quietly to myself, ‘You'll have to do better than this, Lord, if you want me to solve this mystery for you. You know very well that I'm just a mere mortal. I can't be expected to do everything on my own.'

‘What are you saying?' Adela asked curiously. ‘You were mumbling something.'

‘I was just humming to myself.'

‘Oh well, that explains it.' My wife laughed. ‘You never could master a tune.'

Oswald was quietly furious that I had kept Ginèvre Napier's intelligence to myself, and was at first inclined to accuse me of not having inspected the cellar properly.

‘You should have told me and I would have come with you,' he said with suppressed violence. ‘I wouldn't have had any hole-and-corner nonsense! I would have forced Mistress Ireby to open up the cellar. I would have threatened her with the law and then I would have made a thorough search.'

‘I did make a thorough search,' I answered wearily. ‘You have to believe me, Oswald, there is nothing down there except a few barrels of wine or ale and some odd pieces of broken furniture. For heaven's sake, man, just accept the fact that Roderick Jeavons is not holding Celia a prisoner anywhere in that house. We must look elsewhere.'

‘You have to believe him, my dear,' Clemency broke in. ‘If Roderick is the culprit, then he is not hiding her there.'

‘And maybe he is not hiding her at all,' I said. ‘Maybe he has nothing to do with Celia's disappearance. By the way,' I went on before Oswald could say anything more, ‘I have made arrangements for Adela and the children to go home tomorrow. Our old friend, Jack Nym, has been disappointed of a load of glass and is more than willing to convey them to Bristol instead.'

Clemency once again expressed suitable regrets while Sybilla and her brother made a half-hearted attempt to echo her sentiments, but without much success. Arbella didn't even bother, merely reiterating her earlier words that I ought to accompany them as there appeared to be nothing I could do if I stayed.

‘You should go home,' she said.

‘Hold your tongue!' Oswald told her roughly. ‘This is nothing to do with you. Roger has promised to help us and he's a man of his word.' He took a great gulp of air like a drowning man. ‘I have commitments that I can't ignore and he's my eyes and ears while I'm otherwise engaged. Celia
must
be found.' He didn't add ‘alive or dead', but it was implicit in his tone. He was frightened.

To distract his unhappy thoughts I said, ‘The word on the street is that the Archbishop of York has become disaffected from my lord of Gloucester. Do you know any reason why that should be?'

The lie was successful if only for a moment or two. Oswald even managed a superior smile. ‘Thomas Rotheram's an ageing, timorous old fool,' he answered scornfully, ‘who should never have been given the post of Lord Chancellor. Do you know what he did, when he heard about the arrests at Northampton? He rushed to Westminster Sanctuary and gave the Great Seal into the Queen Dowager's keeping. Dear God!' His good lawyer's soul was outraged. ‘The Lord Chancellor should
never
relinquish the Seal into anybody's hands but the king's. Of course, he realized his mistake almost at once and got it back again, but the damage was done. Everybody knows about it. The Inns of Court were buzzing with the news. You can be sure that Gloucester won't forgive him for it. Rotheram will be removed from the chancellorship as soon as maybe. Of course he's a Woodville adherent to his fingertips. I've always fancied that the stupid old dotard is more than a little in love with the queen.'

So that explained why the Archbishop of York was involved in this plot of Hastings – if plot it was. But the conviction was growing in me that something was afoot. I took a deep breath and put it resolutely out of my mind.

Adela and I put the children to bed soon after supper in spite of their protests that it was far too early and that they would never go to sleep. (In fact they were all three asleep in a surprisingly short space of time.) Nicholas and Elizabeth were still excited and eager to be home. Adam again surprised me by putting both arms around my neck and kissing me.

‘You promised to come home soon,' he reminded me.

‘And so I will,' I assured him.

‘What's happened to him?' I asked my wife as we went downstairs. ‘He never used to be this fond of me.'

Adela gave me one of those pitying looks that women reserve for men when anything to do with children is mentioned.

‘I told you, he's growing up. He's always been a sensitive child.'

I took her word for it, but it wasn't the boy that I remembered. Then again, perhaps I had never been at home long enough to get to know him.

We decided to go for one last stroll in the wild, overgrown garden and went out through the kitchen, where Arbella was overseeing the washing of the supper dishes.

‘You'll need a cloak,' she said to Adela. ‘There's a breeze sprung up since this afternoon. Take that old blue one of Celia's that's hanging on a peg in the passageway.'

She was right. A chill wind was rustling the trees and grasses and making the little clouds scud across the evening sky, chased by darker ones marching up over the horizon. We went as far as the side gate and looked over it into the copse, but all was silent except for the singing of the birds. It was here that Adam had last heard Celia's voice, talking to someone. But who? After that she had just vanished.